Father, son
by kiku65
Summary: Thought I’d have a look at some ‘pivotal moments’ in the SW saga. First thing that came to mind was this scene in ESB…No flames. Reviews keep me going.


**Father, son**

Thought I'd have a look at some 'pivotal moments' in the SW saga. First thing that came to mind was this scene in ESB…

Could be said to be linked to 'Son of Suns', since I regard that as the pivotal moment of ROTJ. Also in the same style (Matthew Stover) cos his ROTS novel ranks in the top ten SW books of all time. Plus it's more emotive ;-)

* * *

This is Darth Vader, right now. 

You whirl and crack with your blade, Sith-red dying the face of your son the colour of flames. Flames of Mustafar, of when you had believed all you had had been lost. Died by your hands.

He strikes, your sabers meeting and locking, the struggle of skill becoming one of power. Strength alone cannot save him, and you push him to the ground. The end of the blade hovers near his face.

You tell him he is beaten, and your heart screams at him to give up, to _stop fighting_. The poor, naïve child has no idea what he is doing, and you do not want to hurt him. You want to _save_ him, like you couldn't save his mother. Or yours.

That is why he must turn. That is why you must do this. A Jedi cannot live under the Empire, and for his own sake he must embrace the darkside, for a Sith cannot let a Jedi live. Not even their own son.

His eyes harden, and he strikes the lightsaber away. he does not know that you were never trying during this, that if you had he would even now be dead. But he is your son, and he_ must_ live.

Blue flame sparks off your shoulder, and you let out a reflexive yell. The anger that is a Siths' right rises and the way turns clear as it always does when the lens of your aggression focuses. You can see now what you must do.

It guides your hand to a point of the Force, of space, of flesh and bone. Meat sizzles as the hands falls away, still clutching the lightsaber that had injured you. The youth fall to the floor, stunned.

You regret the action, but it was necessary. That strong, Skywalker spirit must be weakened, for all the lies Obi-Wan must have told him, the brainwashing the Rebels had done to him. The very thought turns your heart to a dead star of hatred.

And now as he backs away, your own son terrified of the person in front of him, you know what you must do. What you must say. You fashion them into a harpoon, a spear that will shatter the spirit of your brave child, and a hook to embed itself in his heart to draw him to you. And with four simple words, you do it.

"I am your father."

* * *

This is Luke Skywalker, right now.

You had always loved your father, cherished him, adored the idea of him. In your mind you had created a shrine, a place where your idol could rest. He was a pilot, a Jedi, a hero. You had chosen the most difficult path imaginable, had always done what you thought he would have, because of him. You had become a Jedi because that was what he had been.

Now four words desecrate the shrine, destroy the idol, shatter your soul into a thousand painful shards. In place of the holy Jedi hero, you now have a monstrous god, a loathsome creature that murders and tortures without a second thought. A being that is hated and feared, not worshiped.

The impact breaks you, down to the root of your soul, and you scream denial at the figure before you, as if the words will change what your own self is confirming as truth. That your life has been worthless, your choices a sham, because they were all based on a lie, a trick, a deception that has backfired on those who made it, and now what little you have had has become nothing at all.

And so you scream, and the star of your hope is dead, as the shadow before you spears your heart with a hook of truth, painful and terrible. And pulls.

* * *

He is your now. Whatever else happens, the hook is in, and it is durable. He cannot escape it, he cannot escape you. Wherever he goes, you will know.

And now you tug at his heart, your child still sobbing at the truth of what he is. Sithspawn, son of one the most hated men in the galaxy. Born of the darkness, deceived by the light. And now, when his light has burned so low it is little more than ashes, you reach out your hand.

Because you know still what you must say. What you must do.

You have destroyed his hope, built on the lies of the Jedi. Now you must offer him a safety line, a promise of truth, of a family. Of a father, to replace the one he had created based on what those around him had told him.

You offer him the galaxy. As you had to_ her_.

_Join me._

You have no fears he will not. The lies of the Rebellion will turn on them now, because they would have surely taught him to hate the Emperor as much as he does you. How can your child refuse this, the chance to destroy the ruler of the Empire, to take control, to make things _better_? How could he, any more than you?

And as he lies before you, you see him make his choice.

* * *

Now the shadow extends a hand, and you hear it mouth words that stun you, and wonder.

_Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son!_

And you want to. Jedi or not, you want to. Not because of the power, or because you want to kill Palpatine as any Rebel would. Not because of hatred or anger, or fear.

But because he is offering it.

Because he _cares_.

Because now your friends are gone, your old mentor shown as a deceiver, your hopes and dreams shown to be based on a lie- now he offers acceptance, and truth. You watch as he reaches out, and holds on to your soul.

And you watch as your soul shies away.

Reality snaps back.

You glance from him, to the chasm below you. Power or death. Father or fall. Darkness or light. It is your choice, only yours, because in the end you are not your fathers' son, or your mentors' student. You are you, and you can choose.

_Come with me. It is the only way._

But that is only true for a Sith. It is not true for a Jedi.

And you are a Jedi.

You make a Jedis' choice.

Like Ben before you, like your mother, like a _Jedi_... you let go.

The fall is a long one, but not as long as his had been.

* * *

You lower your hand. He is gone.

Somehow, despite who his mother is, despite his training- you didn't think it would end this way.

He fades from your sight, and you turn away. through the bond you made, you can feel him fall, hit the bottom, slide to his death. Sick at heart, you try to turn away from the inevitable, retreat into yourself.

You stalk out off the gantry, walk to the hallways full of sycophants and Stormtroopers, crisply order a trailing officer to alert your ship for your arrival. And all the while a question howls round your head.

_Why?_

He had been so _close_! You could feel his indecision, the longing to take your hand, to be with you. And yet, he had chosen death over the darkside, as a Jedi would have.

It looks horribly like your master- and you- were too late. He cannot be _prevented_ from becoming a Jedi. He _is_ a Jedi. Or was.

But no...not _was_. You can hear him! He is alive!

Joy like a time long ago-

_The happiest moment of my life..._

-rips through you. You have a second chance. He has been rescues by those who betrayed him, and while you are angry that the Rebels have him once more, you are relieved that they had enough heart to save your son.

The irony of it is laughable. The Rebellion, saving the son of Darth Vader!

As soon as the Lamba touches dock, you hasten off to the bridge, technicians and mechanics scurrying around you. You make sure that your sons capture is imminent, and turn to the starscape at the window.

The bond hums, and you send out a call.

_Luke. __

* * *

_

"Father?"

You heard him, in your delirium. Now you sleep from reality to dreams, and you heard your father call... you wish, you hope, that he has come to comfort you, as you wish he had on Tatooine, when you had stared at the sunsets and called for him in loneliness.

You want him to make this better, but the answer you get shatters what hope you had left.

_Son. Come with me._

He _dares_ to call you son! He's a _liar_! Your father was a hero, a _Jedi_, not a Sith who would hurt his own child...

And yet in the deepest corner of your heart his voice echoes.

_You know it to be true._

And you do. From the moment he said those four terrible words the fear had not been of the darkside, of death, but of _him_. You had screamed denial not because you thought he was lying, but because you thought he _wasn't_.

And now you only have one question left...

"Ben. Why didn't you tell me?"

_Why did you _lie

And running from the questions' answer, you rise to walk to the cockpit, clutching what remains of your arm. Tears and blood drying on your face, stained the red of your fathers blade, you sit down as your legs cannot support you further.

_Luke, it is your destiny._

And the fear comes back, because you are scared he might be right.

* * *

He is wavering. He is too weak to stay strong.

Your victory sings to the stars, as you feel your son just within your reach. These last three years- these last twenty-two years- of wasted time are now suddenly redeemed, because your son is about to join you. You wait to take hold...

...and the shop vanishes in the blue of hyperspace.

Suddenly, those wasted years become worthless indeed.

The fear of the soldiers around you is overwhelming, and you should punish them for their incompetence... but somehow, you don't want you. You have just suffered a crushing defeat, but instead of Sith-like rage you feel only a mild disappointment. Reason tells you why.

You snared him in the Cloud City. A bond has been established between you, the conversation less than a minute ago proved that. No matter where he runs to, no matter where the Rebellion hides him, he cannot escape his destiny. You know he will face you again.

And so you return to your chamber, to meditate on when this will be. And what you have discovered.

* * *

_This is father and son, right now..._

The father mediates in his chamber. He dutifully tells his failure- temporary, he assures, only temporary- to his master, and sits to think on what has happened. A dead star of disappointment, of loneliness, weighs where his heart should be. He reaches out, to check on...

...the son, who lies on a medbed, wondering at the hand in the sheets beside him. He flexes the fingers, and closes the opening on what will be the only replacement for what he lost at Bespin.

And he walks to a friend at the window, puts his arm around her shoulder. A small candle flame of hope burns inside him, as the galaxy lies before them in a whirlpool of light.

And, so deep that neither can know it yet, there is something else...

_Love is more than a candle. Love can ignite the stars._


End file.
